


Heart Strings

by Nitzer



Category: BC221 - Fandom, ONER, 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Switches, Phone Calls & Telephones, actually like no idol producer references lol, bg bu fan/yue yue, bu fan and yue yue are slightly better at it, lots of longing, mostly references the bc221 vlogs and not idol producer, no underage tag bc like nothing happens but chao is still 17, some bad words, temporarily ldr, the thailand trip everyone references, ziyang and chao are bad at being apart from each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitzer/pseuds/Nitzer
Summary: "Pulsing relief and searing longing rip through my body and settle in my stomach all at the same time at the sound of his voice. “Chaochao,” I breathe out, laced with heavy and palpable affection. And I feel any wall I had put up to stop the constant, nagging pain in my chest crumble down."Chao starts crying all the time once Ziyang gets eliminated, Ziyang pretends it doesn't hurt just as much to be apart from Chao.





	1. concern

**Author's Note:**

> this chapter is a bit of an anomaly bc it's 3rd person and the rest are 1st person and also it's really short, i just like wanted to include all the ONER boys bc they're kind inseparable  
> (also for people like me who didn't know that the names they used on idol producer were stage names(?), Minghui=Yue Yue, Fanfan= Bu Fan, Yingchao= Ling Chao, Zhenyang= Mu Ziyang)

“I’m no good at taking care of kids.”

Minghui snorts on his end of the line. “Yeah, because you _are_ a kid. Someone’s always trying to take care of you.”

Fanfan sighs deep and long, clearly bothered, on his end. “I gotta take care of Yingchao, though. I’m the last one left.”

Minghui’s face falls, not that Fanfan can see it, and sucks in a sharp breath. “There are still good caretakers out there, Rui and Xinjie will help him out—even Xukun would, anyone older than him will help, I’m sure.”

“He’s crying a lot.” Fanfan admits plainly. “He cries all the time and he’s always asking for gege and I know he doesn’t mean me or you.”

There’s a long silence, heavy with thought. Yingchao was always taken care of, giggly and growling out playfully without Minghui or Fanfan even thinking about it. He was always clinging tightly to Zhenyang and intertwining their fingers together and finding comfort in him. He was Zhenyang’s baby and both of them seemed more than happy with the arrangement. It had been a long time since either thought they would be separated too.

“He stopped clinging to the other kids. He stopped talking to them too. I don’t know what to do.”

“See if Ziyi helps.” Minghui suggests shortly, as equally unsure as Fanfan.

“He doesn’t.” The younger says flatly. “I thought he would too but we both know what Chao really wants.”

Minghui was not the leader of their little group for his ability to babysit and everyone knew it. And he really didn’t like having his flaws shoved in his face so he shifted the problem further away from himself. “How are you holding up, Fanzi?”

He laughed sadly and emptily. “Not well.”

“Because Yingchao?” Minghui prodded.

“Because everything, I’m no good at taking care of anyone or being leader or taking anything seriously.”

“You’re taking this pretty seriously.”

“Choazi cries every time we’re alone. I can’t ignore that.” Minghui can hear the shifting springs of the mattress as Fanfan adjusts himself. “Where are you guys anyway?”

“Thailand.”

“Why don’t you call then?” Fanfan asks, accusingly.

“We do.” Minghui answers simply. “We called you yesterday.”

“Yeah, you _two_ called _us_.” Fanfan corrects. “Yingchao just wants to talk to Yang and you know it.”

“He seemed fine then.”

“He’s an _actor_ , ge.” Fanfan sighs, not comfortable with the pressure of taking care of anyone else and frustrated with Minghui’s refusal to help. “Just get Yang to call him. He needs it.”

“It won’t help any if we call and he doesn’t have his phone. Tell Chaozi to call and I’ll make sure that Yang picks up, alright?”

“He better pick up.”

“I’ll make sure he does.” Minghui assures. “I’m worried about him too, he’s my didi too.”

“I know.” Fanfan finally lets his voice soften, relaxing into his bed at the dorms.

“Take care of yourself too. You’re just as important.” It’s quiet and rushes out his mouth faster than Minghui normally talks.

“I will.” He lets himself indulge in the feeling of being cared for. “I will. Good night, Minghui.”

“Good night, my Fanfan.” Minghui leaves him with, letting more affection creep into his voice than he will with anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is actually about ziyang and chao  
> hmu on angelinmyheartt.tumblr.com if you want (not a lot of idol producer/ONER stuff tho)


	2. pull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV switch to 1st person Ziyang POV   
> also, the eternal question of why do ziyang and chao use "gege" and "didi" like petnames? (bonus question of why when chao says "my gege" the only one who responds is ziyang lol?)

It’s easy—it’s really way easier than I ever thought—to push aside the longing, to nearly forget it, traipsing through the picturesque beaches of Thailand. The sharp pull of something attached to my heart being stretched thin and pulled tightly over miles and miles of foreign country was dulled with activity after activity. It was easy to be distracted by beautiful views and luxury pools and Minghui wasn’t bad company. The company set up the perfect environment to just not think. So I didn’t. I didn’t think about leaving empty dorms behind. And I didn’t think about the absence of a young and pliant body always falling asleep half on top of me. And I didn’t stay awake long enough to think the nights lonely. And my heart only barely twisted in my chest when I saw his pixilated smile—distorted by the bad reception on both ends.

So it’s a fresh and unexpected pain that tears through my chest when my phone lights up with “Chaochao,” showing me a picture of him pouting that he took specifically to set at his contact picture in my phone. The quiet tugging in my chest is suddenly unbearable.

“You gotta pick up.” Minghui urges me when he sees who’s calling. “I promised Fanzi that you would.”

I did consider just ignoring it, pretending that I was too busy to see it or something. Yingchao is only safe, only approachable when I’m close enough to touch—when I’m living on top of him—or when Minghui or Fanfan is there too. Alone, this far away from each other, it feels like something forbidden, something I’m too scared to reach out and grab. So I try not to. But the way Minghui looks at me tells me that I don’t have a choice, that I really should and that he’ll pick up for me or call him back if I don’t.

“Zhenyang, Yang-ge, Yangyang, gege.” It all spills out in an excited jumble that goes by so quickly I can’t remember which version of my name comes first.

Pulsing relief and searing longing rip through my body and settle in my stomach all at the same time at the sound of his voice. “Chaochao,” I breathe out, laced with heavy and palpable affection. And I feel any wall I had put up to stop the constant, nagging pain in my chest crumble down. A dozen petnames play on my tongue but none of them make it out because I can’t force them out and the reverent way I say his name feels intimate enough.

I swear I can feel him preening and smiley at the affection in my voice even though there are hundreds of miles between us. Minghui has slipped out of the room now he knows I’ve picked up, that I’ve committed. I’m alone without Yingchao but I can’t touch, I can’t watch, I can’t feel and it leaves me uneasy and awkward. “How’s Thailand?” He asks, sounding more or less casual, toning down his excitement.

I let myself briefly, miserably wonder how empty my bed will feel tonight with the longing ripped open like a barely-healed wound in my chest. Not that I frequently shared a bed with Yingchao, I was bad at sharing beds at all, I put a fucking body pillow in between me and Minghui whenever we had to share for fuck’s sake. But, _god_ , I was so used to Yingchao falling asleep on me whenever, where ever, just having his body curled up on top of me—breathing gentle, his vast and endless energy finally drained, looking like a little angel. And it had been a while (been a painfully long while) since I had seen that. And I knew that the memory would sting through me before I managed to fall asleep. “It’s beautiful.” I say blankly, barely being able to recall anything I’ve seen in the past couple of days.

“You should show me more.” He pouts. “I’m sick of the dorms.”

The easy way he complains and whines with me is so close to normal I almost relax. “We showed you the hotel yesterday.” I remind him. “What else do you wanna see?”

He makes a dramatic and exaggerated thinking noise on his end. “I wanna see the beaches.” He settles on. “And I wanna see the sunsets.” There’s a pause before he more quietly says, “And I wanna see you.”

“I’ll take more pictures tomorrow.” I assure him.

“Take selfies!” He whines more confidently because I have never once denied him a single thing in his life.

“Get more screen time.” I tease.

“I get so much screen time.” He pouts. “And I’m way more beautiful than any stupid beaches.”

“Then send me some selfies.”

“I will.” He huffs. And, god, I’m just so stupidly _soft_ for my Chaozi. My heart melts at his defiance, at how expressive he is.

“How are you? Are you eating well?” It spills out of my mouth easily and without my permission. My concern for Yingchao is just so endless and overwhelming that I need to know. Fanfan only ever calls Minghui and he rarely updates me. So this is the first time I’ve gotten to see or hear Yingchao off the cameras in a long time.

His silence is long, piercing and painful. I can feel the mood drop even though I shouldn’t be able to feel anything. There’s no mood, there’s no touching, there’s just two ends of a phone line. He makes some kind of quiet, barely audible pained noise. I hold my breath. “I’m eating ok.” He finally answers, not really answering anything.

“How are _you_ , though?” I breathe out again. It’s all concern, the overactive affection bleeding out of my voice.

He hiccups out an uneven breath. “I don’t want to be here anymore.” He admits quietly, miserably. “I want to go home.”

I instinctively know that “home” is no longer the house he grew up in, it’s where ever Qin’s stuck all four of us for now. I know because it’s home for me too (although Minghui and Fanfan and my messy wardrobe hardly constitutes a home, _Yingchao_ is where home is). “No!” I argue quickly. “You made it so far, Chao, you’ve done so well. You don’t want to leave now.”

“It’s not worth it,” he says miserably, “I just wanna come home and debut already.”

“You’ve got so much left to do out there, though. We’d never do anything without waiting for you anyway.”

“I’m sick of waiting. I miss gege too much.” He’s whining and crumbling, I can _hear_ the tears building in his voice. And I’m crumbling too, he’s just a kid under too much pressure, all by himself.

“You’ve got Fanfan and all the other geges out there.” I try to comfort him.

“I miss _you_.” He finally breaks. “I want _you_.”

I suck in a shaky breath to avoid breaking with him. He’s in my hands (he’s always been, he’s _always been_ ) and I have to try to piece him back together instead. “You remember when we all went down to the sea and went to that amusement park?” He makes a small and affirmative noise. “And we played those rigged games at the stalls but I still won you that dog plushie?”

He laughs softly but it sounds wet and terrible through his tears. “You probably just could’ve bought one.”

“I wanted to win one for you, though.” I argue. “Anyway, didn’t you bring it to the dorms?”

“No.” He murmurs.

“Why not?” The dog wasn’t as iconic, wasn’t as worth talking about, as the pillow he had with himself on it but it was always on his bed, wrapped up in his blankets.

“I thought you would be here instead.”

The feeling in my chest _is_ something breaking. It’s something violently breaking under pressure. “I’m sorry.” I sob out. My cheeks are wet with tear trails already—everything’s rushing out like a dam breaking. “I’m so sorry, Chaochao. I’m so sorry, I never wanted to leave you.” I’ve never felt worse in my life, more like a failure. I was desperately clawing at something that had already fallen out of my grasp. “I could’ve done better, could’ve worked harder, could’ve made the citizen producers love me more.”

“No, no,” Yingchao hiccups out, “it’s not your fault, gege.” His voice is breaking all around the edges and heavy with tears. “I just want to go home. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

And I’m so deeply caught up in my own guilt—my own misery (even though it is so deeply intertwined with Yingchao’s that it might as well be the same) but I can’t let my angel, my light, my _world_ think that he’s failed. “I shouldn’t have ever left you. I never wanted to leave you. God, Chaochao, you _can’t_ leave because of me.” I plead.

“Please, _please_ , gege,” he whines but it’s not cute and endearing, it’s desperate and broken. “Please, just let me come home. Please, it’s been so long and I can’t do it anymore. Not without you.”

“You can’t leave now. You’ve done so well. You’ve done so much better than gege, so much better than all of us. Just wait a little bit please… _please_.” I bargain with him, thinking about the easy and excited way he took to the other kids there. And remembering the relief he breathed out every time he made it past another elimination round. And hearing his angelic voice at the forefront of every song (just like it should be), the background of ballads only making it sound better.

“I just…don’t know what to do without you. Everything feels empty and cold.” He admits.

“Just keep doing what you’ve been doing. You’ve been doing so well. You’re so good and the citizen producers love you.” I praise him, trying my best to soothe over all the tender spots and open wounds on his heart. “And I’ll do whatever you need when you get home. Just name it.”

He laughs cutely and there’s finally some joy in it. “You always do what I want, gege.”

At least the brat _knows_ he’s spoiled. “So what do you want? When you get back, I’ll take you down to the convenience store and buy you whatever snacks you want.” I offer.

“No,” he laughs, “the fans already got me lots of candy.”

“Then what do you want?” I prod. “I’ll even feed you crab if you want.”

“You hate crab.” He waves off. “Anyway, Fan-ge is way better at peeling crabs.”

“Then I’ll get Fanfan to feed you crab.” I promise. “What do you want?”

“I want you to feed me other things…like candy.” He responds after a pause. “And I wanna hear you sing. I want you to sing for me. I want you to call more often and I want you to send selfies and I want you to win me more stuffed animals and I want lots and _lots_ more things when I get back.” He finally demands, sounding like the spoiled prince that buzzed with energy the entire ride to the airport every time we took a plane. He finally sounded like the kid that nervously pulled at the stuffed animal or pillow in his lap every time he had to do an interview by himself, like the kid who hid candy in every corner of the office, like the angel who always hung off of me.

“So, you’ll wait to come home? Keep competing?”

“Depends on how many selfies you send me.” He teases. “And how often you call.”

“I’ll do whatever for you, you know that.” I tell him fondly.

“Fan-ge just got back.” He whispers secretively into the phone.

“Am I on speakerphone?”

“No.” He says so quietly it might as well be a breath.

“I love you, Chaochao.” I tell him, pouring all the fondness I have for him into my voice. He makes a high, little distressed noise in response. “You should get some sleep, though.”

“I will.” He murmurs to me and I know his heart is racing out there, in the dorms with Fanfan but I wish I was close enough to hear it, to feel it. “I love you, Yanyang.” He whispers back to me and it _feels_ like a confession. It feels like he stood on his tip toes and cupped his hands around his mouth to whisper it quietly, sweetly, fondly into my ear somewhere barely secretive. And my heart starts pounding just as hard as I know his is.

I hear barely a snippet of his quiet, little giggles before the phone clicks off and I’m left like a floundering fish, drowning in all my affection. My heart is still pounding and my face is flush and my bed is still empty. The longing doesn’t feel like a wound tugged open anymore though, it’s soothed, a little bit at least, dulled to an annoying pull. And before Minghui makes his miraculously well-timed reappearance I get a second to wonder if Chao knew what he was asking for when he said “lots and lots more stuff” when he gets back.

It’s a weird kind of tenuous hope that blooms happily in my chest at Yingchao’s “I love you,” at his voice, his laugh, his demanding nature. Like there’s so much left out in the world for me. Like, even with all our traipsing through every part of Asia we could set foot in, I missed a lot of beautiful things (or I missed one really, _really_ beautiful thing, maybe the most beautiful thing I’ll ever see).

I snap a picture of the pool from out balcony, the low lights of the hotel sparkling and reflecting off of the water and send it to Chao with the caption, _i would take a selfie but my eyes are too puffy from crying_

Chao sends me back a bunch of cutesy, animated laughing emojis, the kind you have to pay for. The kind that Chao has always especially loved. _mine too_ , he finally types back.

_i’ll send you selfies tomorrow_ , I promise him. _lots,_ I tack on.

He sends me back a string of flustered, blushing, love-struck, emojis and wishes me good night with one that’s blowing a kiss.

My bed is still empty. And my Chaozi is still hundreds of miles away in an empty bed of his own. And there’s still potential months (god, maybe even a year) stretching ahead of me without him. But it doesn’t hurt as bad anymore. And it’s not just a forgotten pain, one I’ve glossed over to avoid the sting—it’s healing. There’s a promise that it won’t always be here now. There’s so much to look forward to, so much to explore, so much just out of my grasp but it’s getting closer with each passing second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is more fluff, also there's NO goddamned way that chao doesn't have a bunch of those packs of premium emojis you have to pay for in messaging apps


	3. reuinion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still 1st person ziyang POV, honestly the chapter break is just for a time skip and more implied yue yue/bu fan than i intended actually (bc those two are just as disgustingly in love as ziyang and chao tbh)

I tense up with excitement while watching the final episode of Idol Producer when I hear Yingchao’s results before I remember to be disappointed and sympathetic. I just can’t help the anticipation and relief I feel because Chao is coming home. He’s finally _coming home_. The congratulatory hug I give him (along with Minghui and everyone else we pass) feels too short, too temporary a solution for all my waiting. Even later, when I’ve spent all the time I could, trailing him around backstage, my arms wrapped around his waist I still feel _deprived_ when Fanfan has to gather him to go pack. (Yingchao still pouts and clings onto me and Fanfan has to physically drag him away and even then Yingchao makes pitiful little grabby hands at me the entire way.)

Fanfan blows a playful kiss Minghui’s way as he’s dragging Yingchao behind him and Minghui pretends to catch it and stuff it in his pocket. I know somewhere in my heart that Minghui is feeling the same rushing sense of relief that Fanfan is coming home (soon, so soon) because in the string of a million or so emojis Minghui has after Fanfan’s name in his phone contacts there’s at least one or two hearts. (Yingchao has just two things after his name in my phone, an angel and a crown.) Minghui, as always, is decent company and keeps my excitement and anticipation from boiling over and spilling everywhere. But there's something familiar and quiet buzzing inside him the entire ride back home (half home, close enough to home, it'll be home again once Yingchao gets back at least) and his company feels different with the new layer of understanding and similarity.

Minghui is restless in a way that's clear he's trying to cover it up. He's always writing lyrics and picking at his guitar without really playing anything and his workouts feel frantic and unnecessary. I am restless in an obvious way. I feel like my affection for Yingchao was at best barely muted anyway. It's obvious what I'm waiting for. It's obvious how much I'm looking forward to it. My restlessness translates into a million (or more) photos. I take pictures of every interesting thing I see. I take pictures of every cute animal and take selfies in front of every bit of graffiti or every poster I pass. I even start taking pictures of stuffed animals in the dorms and any new decorations that appear in the office. I send them all to Yingchao to keep my promise and keep him happy.

He sends me just as many pictures. He sends me pictures of himself in bits of stage costumes that he manages to get his hands on during the clean up. He sends me selfies of him with the other kids and with sleeping Fanfan. He sends me a million unflattering pictures Fanfan, actually, usually when he's sleeping but sometimes he just looks like that apparently. 

I find out precisely when Yingchao is coming home from a helpful member on the staff, telling us when their plane lands. But I also know because Yingchao starts sending me pictures of him packing, of the dozens of suitcases open and half-packed around the dorms. And I can tell how close he is to coming home by how full the suitcase gets and how annoyed and pouty the selfies get. And then I get a picture of him stuffed into a van with all his clothes and presents from fans and the bits of uniform they were allowed to keep. And then I see the airport. And then I see another van. And I'm so restless, so anxious, buzzing constantly between the window and the front porch. Minghui follows me more slowly, maintaining at least some of his famous composure. 

I rush out of the apartment every time I see a van on the street because the pictures stop after the first one of the second van and any one could be his. I'm out on the porch when the van finally does arrive. Yingchao bursts out from the backseat, shrugging off all of the luggage packed on top of him. He's a blur, darting across the parking lot to me and a dozen different versions of my name are spilling out of his mouth, loudly, excitedly. I hear a distinct, excited, affectionate "gege!" from him before he's leaping at me like there's not even a chance that I won't catch him (there isn't, there’s no way I'd ever let him down).  

I catch him and hold him and he's gathered so easily up in my arms. I'm holding him by the waist and his feet are dangling above the ground and it's so easy for me, he’s so light I have to stop and worry if he's been skipping meals. But there's no time to worry, to think because he's in my arms and the force of him running and jumping and our magnetic draw and our pent up longing sends both of us spinning. And I'm twirling him around, arms tight around him, his face buried into my neck. My Chaochao is _here_ , in my arms and I'm touching him and he's real (he's really real, this isn't just a dream) and he's _home_.

My fingers dig into his back probably harder than necessary but I can't care. I can't. I have to know he's real, under my fingertips and in my arms. He's real tucked into the side of my neck, his nose brushing along sensitive skin. And I can smell him (he smells like sweets, always, even when I know he hasn't had any for days) and his breath is puffing out in quick little pants against my neck. And I don't believe it because I _can't_. I had waited so long and longed so hard and cried at least three times since I last held him and he's back. 

I set him down and barely pull away just to see him, to know it's really _him_. My hands slide from his waist up to cup his face. And, god, it really is my angel. His face is lightly flushed (from anything, it could be from anything, it doesn't have to be from the reverence and adoration I'm looking at him with) and his grin is stretched impossibly wide across his face. And then he's using the hands looped around my neck to tug me down for a kiss that's all inexperience—his pursed mouth pressing against mine way too hard. I stroke my thumb gently over his cheekbone, slowing down the kiss, getting him to relax. I need him to know that this is good, that I’m happy—god, _beyond_ happy with him being so close.

My arms find their way back around his waist and I’m pulling him closer, closer than I ever thought possible. And I can _feel_ the little scab from where his lip split from some stupid accident against my mouth. And I’m breathing him in. And wrapped up in him. And something is bubbling and fizzing inside of me, something warmer and more comfortable than excitement or anticipation. Every part of me feels tingly because this is exactly where I’m supposed to be—where Yingchao is supposed to be too, tucked safely into my arms, lips pressed against mine.

Minghui makes some sort of disgusted noise and complains, “In _public_ , guys?”

“Think of the children!” Fanfan pleads but he’s the youngest one here besides Chao so I guess he’s the “children.”

I do pull away from Yingchao, mostly because there are better places to kiss him and millions of things to tell him and not because Minghui and Fanfan can’t handle PDA. (And I _don’t_ miss the way Fan has his arm slung around Yue’s waist already.) “My angel,” I breathe to Yingchao. He’s flushed a pretty pink and still grinning bigger than I’ve ever seen him before. “Is that what you meant when you said you wanted to do ‘lots and lots of things’ when you got back?”

His grin turned into a sly smirk and he just giggled cutely and turned away.

“The _children_!” Fanfan begs again.

So I gather Yingchao up in my arms again and his face goes from a pretty pink to a bright red and his excited laughter comes out like a squeal. And I carry him easily (so easily, has he always been this light?) into the apartment, depositing him on his bed like the precious cargo he is. He clings onto me like koala and clings even tighter when he’s safely on the bed. “Stay?” He whispers as I’m trying to untangle my arms from him.

“I hope I never have to leave again.” I respond more honestly then I intend to. And I’m being tugged down into another desperate kiss but Chao doesn’t purse his lips this time and he’s gonna be so dangerous later (dangerous to my health and wellbeing and blood pressure) if he’s learning that fast. His limbs loosen around me and his fingers wander curiously through my hair and down my back. I press close into him, my hands wandering over the bare skin of his arms and collarbone. He’s so delicate under me, bones poking at skin and the easy way my fingers fit around any part of his arm. I want to cradle him as much as I want to see how easy he would be to mark up.

The kiss is still desperate, Yingchao gasps when my mouth slides against his a certain way and digs his fingers into my skin and leaves them there. Once we both explore a little bit, the kiss is suddenly just about being close—being impossibly, close as close as we can be and trying to get closer. I want to breathe him in and never have to face any space between us again. Yingchao is flush against me and gripping weakly like he just needs something to hold onto, something to keep him grounded. I toy with the low neckline of the loose tank top he’s wearing—considering, debating.

“Can I leave marks?” I ask, placing soft open-mouthed kisses on his neck. “Just one.” I promise. “Just to show that you’re mine?”

He makes some high, keening noise that stops my breath entirely with how _good_ it sounds. And he’s nodding desperately. And I know it’s, at best, barely consent. He’s an inexperienced kid, drowning in what feels good but I’m still imagining a single, dark mark just below his collarbone. Something that’ll be concrete, that’ll remind both of us that this whole thing was real.

“Babe!” Fanfan yells from the kitchen. Yingchao doesn’t even seem to hear it, overwhelmed with my mouth on him and I’m a little busy, scraping my teeth teasingly over his collarbone. Anyway, we both know he means Minghui, the same way they know when Yingchao calls for “gege” he’s looking for me.

“Babe!” He calls again and it’s getting at least a little distracting. “Babe! Babe!”

“Yeah?” Minghui finally answers from the living room.

“Why’s there cake in the fridge?”

“The company sent it to welcome you guys back.” Minghui’s voice is quieter now so I assume he moved into the kitchen with Fanfan.

Fanfan laughs mischievously. “Then you don’t get any.” He teases. I’ve only just finally properly bit into the skin under Yingchao’s collarbone, still light and teasing, hardly enough to leave any kind of mark. But he’s more tensed under me, probably thinking about losing out on the cake.

“Oh, I’m so sad.” Minghui mocks. “I don’t get any cake because when I came back, I got a luxury vacation to Thailand.” There’s scuffling and muffled laughter and the sound of the refrigerator door slamming shut. And then Minghui is running past the bedroom with icing smeared across his face, Fanfan close behind and just as much of a mess but holding the cake.

I give up on leaving any kind of mark on Yingchao because he’s distracted and probably thinking about cake and he’s already _mine_. He’s probably been mine for a long time. And everyone who would’ve gotten to see that mark already knows anyway. So I run my fingers teasingly up his sides and blow a raspberry into his neck. He gives me his full attention again and starts laughing so sweetly I think my heart will melt in my chest. “You want some cake?” I ask.

“It _is_ for me.” He argues.

“Spoiled brat.” I tell him, poking into his boney side accusingly.

“I’m not spoiled.” He defends. “I’m a prince. I’m a miracle.” He asserts dramatically and my brain latches onto the idea without my permission, my breath catching dramatically. Yingchao called himself a prince frequently, called himself an angel too but I’d never heard him call himself a “miracle.” But, god, I guess he was. He was a _miracle_ in my life. It was a miracle that he ever bought that train ticket to Beijing. It was a miracle that Qin’s took in him, took in me. It was a miracle that we weren’t separated into different groups. It was a miracle that he was here at all. And thinking of all the ways that he could’ve slipped by me in my life, all the ways that none of this ever could’ve happened made me wrap my limbs around him tighter, not letting him get up.

“You are.” I breathed into him, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of his head.

He looked awed and confused at the sudden mood shift. “Cake? Still?” He asked awkwardly.

“Yeah,” I laughed, “yeah, go see if you can catch Fanfan I guess.”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh, that’s gege’s job.”

“I have a fee.” I tell him teasingly, pretending to turn away from him.

He catches on quicker than I figure he will, pressing a quick and cute kiss to my lips. “Does that cover it?”

“Y-yeah.” I stutter out because he really _is_ learning too quick and he’s gonna be real dangerous soon.

The cake is only half-ruined by the time Minghui and Fanfan stop chasing each other around the apartment and smearing icing on the other. _They’re_ both fully ruined, though, their faces and hair and clothes all stained with sticky half-melted icing. Yingchao gets the biggest piece of cake and eats it all while sitting in my lap, showing me some cartoon he wanted to catch up on. When he shifts and the neckline of his loose tank top falls lower, I still see the light mark I managed to leave. It’s still light—hardly a hickey but I didn’t think I left _anything_ at all. I swipe my thumb over it curiously and Yingchao looks down to follow its path.

He lights up red and realization that I left that mark, that there’s a mark on him at all.

“I’ll leave a proper one next time.” I tease him, whispering it lowly in his ear. It’s just to tease him, though, to see the cute way he squirms in my lap at the thought. He’s spent so much time in my arms, I’m already losing the fear that he’ll leave ever again. I already know where belongs—where I belong. And the dorms are starting to feel like home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](angelinmyheartt.tumblr.com) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/Nitzer)


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